The Final Gambit

by Christopher Healy

  “Then do that and take us with you,” said Emmett. “We need someplace to lie low too. At least until we can figure out our next move.”

  “So, where’s your safe space?” Molly asked Edison. “You must have one.”

  Edison clenched his jaw as he mulled it over. “It’s called the Club.”

  19

  The Wizard’s Lair

  THOMAS EDISON REFUSED to leave the backstage area until he was adequately disguised. He was far from pleased, however, with the street sweeper’s coveralls that the kids forced him into. And even less so with the floppy mophead they threw over his hair as a wig.

  “I look ridiculous,” he complained, flicking a thick strand of gray yarn from in his eye. “What am I supposed to be—a rag doll janitor? You’re just trying to humiliate me, aren’t you?”

  “You look very un-Edison,” Emmett said. “Which is kind of the point.” Stifling their snickers, he and Molly climbed into an abandoned trash cart, which the inventor grudgingly pushed out through the crowd. And thus they made their escape.

  Their first stop was the alley behind the stables, where they found Robot and Dr. Stinkums waiting. “See? This dog always finds me,” said Robot.

  “I still don’t understand why you have a dog,” Edison said as Dr. Stinkums nibbled the toe of his shoe. From there, the inventor navigated them through back alleys to the rear of a classy red-brick townhouse.

  “The Club,” he said.

  Molly peeked through ivy-ringed windows to see an extravagant hall with lush red carpeting, gold filigree wallpaper, and stained-glass chandeliers that cast twinkling colors around the room. The Guild didn’t deserve all the money they had, she thought. Their “fanciness” budget had to be four times that of what they spent on equipment and research. The Mothers of Invention somehow managed to function perfectly well without velvet chairs and emerald doorknobs.

  She recognized some of the men who were clinking champagne glasses and puffing cigars inside. Camera-maker George Eastman and electrical pioneer George Westinghouse were sipping drinks and laughing while Nikola Tesla juggled what appeared to be glass balls of lightning. No sign of Alexander Graham Bell, of course; Rector likely had him shackled in a dungeon somewhere. “These guys are all supposedly geniuses, right?” Molly said. “One of them must be able to help us.” Personally, she was hoping it would be Tesla. He seemed fun.

  “We’d be fools to trust them,” said Edison. “If there’s one thing you can count on your fellow Guildsmen for, it’s a knife in your back. Besides, any one of those men could be Ambrose Rector in disguise. Right now, we are the only three people we can safely say aren’t Rector.”

  “Five,” Molly corrected him.

  “I wasn’t counting the robot or the dog.” Edison squeezed the bridge of his nose like he was trying to ward off a headache. “Okay, I’m going in. That window directly above us is my personal office on the second floor. I’ll enter through the front door, posing as a custodian, then go up and open the window for you.”

  “You must think we’re fools,” Molly said, stepping into his path as he tried to leave the alley. “You’re just going to hide inside and leave us out here.”

  “If I was going to ditch you, why would I have taken you all the way here?” Edison asked with obvious annoyance. “I even detoured to find your aluminum sidekick.”

  Emmett and Molly exchanged glances. They didn’t have much choice in the matter. “We’ll be expecting you at that window in three minutes,” Emmett said.

  Edison hurried around to the front of the building, his ridiculous mop-yarn hair bouncing as he ran. Robot began counting as Molly and Emmett watched that second-story window. One minute. Two minutes. Four minutes. Six minutes. Molly gave Emmett a wincing look. Nine minutes. The window finally opened.

  Edison bitterly threw the ragged mop-wig down at them before beckoning them up. Robot launched his hoist-hand to the sill, gathered the children and the dog, and rode the retracting rope to the second floor. They all climbed inside, ducking under heavy velvet curtains fringed with tinkling crystals.

  Molly had thought Thomas Edison’s private office at the Guild Hall in New York was a swanky enough place. But this DC office was a sight to behold. I might as well be in a tsar’s palace or a pharaoh’s tomb, Molly thought, gawking at the jade statuary, the crystal vases, the silver drinkware, the mounted heads of animals she couldn’t begin to identify, the silken throw pillows that Dr. Stinkums had already begun shredding. “This place is so far over the top, it’s come back around and hit the bottom,” Molly said with disdain. “Where are the inventions? Where are the pincers, the circuits, the cogs, the wires, the sandpaper?”

  “That hoohah is all back in New York,” Edison said dismissively. “This is the Club. We come here for, you know, recreation.” He sat down at his mother-of-pearl desk and pulled the chain to turn on a solid gold lamp in the shape of a unicorn.

  Emmett leaned in to Molly and whispered, “You can’t deny you like that lamp, though.”

  She couldn’t.

  “Now, I believe we have some business to attend to,” Edison said, twirling a pencil.

  The children sat in leather chairs across the desk from him. “Well,” said Emmett, “what do we know so far about Rector’s plan?”

  “It has something to do with the Washington Monument,” said Molly. “Otherwise why would he be blackmailing Edison into finishing it? How much work is left on it, Tom-Tom?”

  “Basically just the lightning rod. But it can’t be installed safely until we finish constructing the copper housing for it.”

  “Is Rector trying to harness lightning?” Molly wondered.

  “Harness lightning?” Robot echoed. “Is that a metaphor or is Lightning a horse? Lightning would be a good name for a horse.”

  “Metaphor,” said Molly. “A lightning rod is basically a big antenna that draws in lightning, so maybe Rector wants to suck up electricity with it, or—”

  “Ooh!” Emmett burst out with excitement. “What if Rector plans to reverse the flow and use the rod to transmit energy instead of absorb it?”

  Edison scoffed. “It would take a super-genius to . . . oh, that’s right—he is one.”

  “Maybe Lightning can be the name of that unicorn,” said Robot.

  “Robot, we need to focus,” said Molly. But focusing was no easy task in the midst of all that fantastic gaudiness. She’d never seen so much luster in one room. The drawer pulls glistened, the chair legs shimmered, and the crystals on the curtains cast dancing flecks of light everywhere. “The sapphire! From the Smithsonian!” she blurted, her mind rushing back to the dancing lights on the walls of the Ambrosium cavern. “Rector didn’t just steal it for the money; he’s going to use it.” She stood up, ran to the window, and pulled the curtain aside. A solitary square of sunlight was illuminated on the Persian carpet. “Look at the light coming through the window,” she said. “One ray, one spot of light. But put a crystal in front and . . .” She let the curtain fringe fall into the sunbeam and, suddenly, bright shapes were flickering on every wall.

  Emmett’s jaw dropped. “Rector can use the sapphire to split the energy like a prism and send it out in all directions.”

  “What energy?” Edison asked. “Are we talking about lightning?”

  “No, Ambrosium,” Emmett said. “Rector’s weapons always revolve around Ambrosium. Like the Mind-Melter, the device he used to paralyze everyone at the World’s Fair. Remember how he said the Mind-Melter’s rays would have been fatal if he’d turned up the intensity any higher?”

  “Well, whatever he’s got planned this time, he’s definitely turning up the intensity,” Molly said. “Because he’s transformed the whole darn Washington Monument into a Mind-Melter! Okay, not a Mind-Melter, exactly—I’m sure Rector isn’t dumb enough to try the same thing twice—but some sort of giant death machine. And with that gem on the antenna, his new death machine will be able to send its lethal energy across a far larger area than Central Park. R
ector will be able to zap the whole city. Maybe the entire Eastern Seaboard.”

  “Well, that’s a humdinger,” said Edison. He drummed his pencil on the desk, then stood up. “I’ve got to order my staff to get cracking on that monument!”

  Emmett jumped up as well. “I don’t think you followed what we just said.”

  “Yeah,” Molly joined in. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m not going to have them finish it,” Edison scoffed. “I’m not a moron! But I’d given them the day off to see my rally. They need to get back to work. If Rector doesn’t see them toiling away, he’ll think I’ve ignored his ultimatum. Bell may be a buffoon, but I don’t want his death on my conscience.”

  “He’s got a point,” Emmett said. “Rector needs to think we’re playing along. Okay, do it, but make sure you tell your men not to complete the work.”

  “Obviously,” Edison said, rolling his eyes. “Look, we’re two weeks out from Election Day—stalling a construction job until then is easy. What will be difficult, though, is finding and thwarting Rector when all we’ve got is the three of us.”

  “Five,” said Robot. There was a crash as Dr. Stinkums yanked down the curtain and began noisily chewing the velvet.

  Edison sighed. “I’m serious, children. We can’t handle this alone. Think—is there anyone else we can trust? What about your parents? Can you contact them?”

  “Parents, plural?” Emmett asked tentatively. “So . . . you know about my father?”

  “That he’s alive and now a fugitive like the rest of you? Yes. What Agent Clark knows, I know.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Molly said. “They’re nowhere they can be contacted quickly enough.”

  “And the next time we see them, we’re probably going to be grounded until retirement, anyway,” Emmett added.

  Edison snapped his fingers. “Say, what about those other friends of yours? Those meddlesome lady inventors? The Grannies with Hammers, or something along those lines?”

  “The Mothers of Invention,” Molly said sharply. “And they’ve got more skill in their pinkie toes than the entire Guild put together.”

  “They’ve also been missing for longer than we have,” Emmett said sadly. “The police can’t find them and neither can we.”

  “They haven’t reached out to you?” Edison said. “No contact at all? Hmm, I guess they weren’t the friends you thought they were.”

  “They would have if they could have! But it’s been too risky!” Molly snapped. “I mean, what were they supposed to do? Write us a letter?”

  Emmett gasped. “Maybe they did!”

  “Did what?” Molly was confused.

  “Sent us a letter!” Emmett rooted around his coat pockets until he found the crumpled advertisement for the Hidden Hearth Inn. “This was the only piece of correspondence sent to the pickle shop that wasn’t a bill, remember?” Emmett continued. “Since when do we get vacation advertisements in the mail? What if it’s really a coded message?” He smoothed out the paper and pointed to the name of the inn. “Hidden Hearth. Swap two letters and it’s Hidden Hertha.”

  Molly jumped onto her chair, howling with glee. “It has to be! Read the rest! Read the rest!”

  Robot leaned over. “Is this a riddle? I like riddles. I know a good one about a talking banana and—”

  “Not now,” said Molly. She, Emmett, Edison, and Robot crowded around the paper. (Dr. Stinkums snored nearby under a pile of shredded velvet.)

  Has life become too hectic? Do you feel like you’re always on the run? Make your getaway to the HIDDEN HEARTH INN in beautiful Petalsburg, Virginia. If you’re feeling the troubles of the modern world encroach upon your day, you’re guaranteed to find a good night here at the inn. The intersection of Shea Road and Walter Street marks the spot for a peaceful respite that will revitalize your energy and spark your creativity. The Hidden Hearth is so good for you, it should be against the law not to visit! So, stop by for a tasty beverage, put your feet up, and shake hands with Mother Nature!

  “Mother Nature!” Molly squealed. “That’s a good sign!”

  “And a very common phrase,” said Edison.

  “But wait. Look how ‘good night’ is underlined,” Emmett added. “Sarah Goode, Margaret Knight. That could be their way of letting us know it’s from them.”

  “There’s more than one underlined bit, though,” said Edison.

  “‘Marks’ is underlined too,” Molly said, vibrating with excitement. “Hertha Marks! How did we not notice this before?”

  “Probably because of the state we were in when Jasper first handed us this letter,” said Emmett.

  “New York?” asked Robot.

  “Our emotional state,” Emmett clarified. “Exhausted, disappointed, distracted, worried—none of us were in the right frame of mind for spotting encrypted clues just then. We need to forgive ourselves for thinking this was just a silly advertisement.”

  “It still might be,” Edison said. “Unless one of your friends is named ‘Encroach,’ these underlined words might be mere coincidence.”

  Molly racked her brain. This letter had to be from the MOI. But the other underlined words and phrases didn’t hint to the ladies in the group. “No,” she said sadly. “There’s just Josephine Cochrane and Mary Walton left.”

  “Do riddle-makers ever misspell things?” Robot asked. “Because ‘encroach’ has all the same letters as ‘Cochrane.’ But in the wrong order.”

  “It’s an anagram! Just like ‘hearth’!” Emmett said. “Robot, you’re a genius!”

  “That is even better than a knight,” said Robot.

  “You bet your metal mustache it is!” Molly cheered. “And it explains the last underlined bit too: ‘law not.’ That’s Walton! No denying it—this is from the MOI!”

  “But what are they telling us to do?” Emmett asked.

  “I think that much is obvious,” said Edison. “We go to the intersection of Shea and Walter in Petalsburg, Virginia.”

  “Where is that? Far?” Molly asked. Edison was already unrolling a map.

  “Less than twelve miles outside DC, as luck would have it,” the inventor replied. “And I may have a way for us to get there. I have a regular cab driver I use when I’m in Washington. Bumbles, his name is. Bit of an oaf, but he knows his way around and, more importantly, he knows how to keep his mouth shut. I know we need to watch out for possible imposters, but I can’t imagine Rector even knows Bumbles exists, let alone that he has a connection to me.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Molly cried. “We’re gonna solve a mystery! And find the Mothers of Invention! The Investigators’ Guild is back!” She got suddenly wistful. “Aw, I miss Roald.”

  Emmett smiled. “Yeah, if he were here, he’d say, ‘I am very good at finding hiding people!’”

  Edison’s office door flew open. “What a coincidence! I am also very good at finding hiding people,” said someone silhouetted in the doorway.

  Cassandra Pepper stepped into the light. “As evidence, I present this very moment!” she said.

  Captain Lee marched into the office after her and slammed the door.

  “Look, Molly and Emmett,” Robot said cheerily. “Your mother and father have joined us.”

  “Papa!” Emmett reeled.

  “What? But—Mother? What? How?” Molly stammered.

  “It is a good thing you are here, Mrs. Pepper,” said Robot. “It sounds like Molly is broken.”

  “Ah, Mrs. Pepper. A pleasure as always,” Edison said drolly. He offered his hand to the captain. “And you must be the boy’s father. Congratulations on not being dead. Now, I’m going to ask the question I assume the children were attempting to spit out: How did you get here?”

  “We built a motorcar,” Cassandra said, as if the answer had been obvious. She focused on Molly. “Do you have any idea how many carrot-peeler motors it takes to get up to fifty miles per hour?”

  “And carrot peelers do not hold up well at that speed,” Captain Lee added with a frown
.

  “Our vehicle stopped working a few miles outside the city,” Cassandra said. “And then fell apart. And caught fire.”

  Molly winced.

  “I’m just glad you’re both okay,” said Emmett.

  “Us? Oh, yes, we’re fine,” said Cassandra.

  “You, on the other hand . . .” Captain Lee blasted his son with a searing glare. “Take us to the Daedalus Chariot now. We can discuss punishments on the way home. If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Edison . . .” He reached for the doorknob.

  “Not so fast.” Edison rushed past him to block their exit. “Your little rapscallions dragged me into this colossal cluster of danger and mayhem—you don’t get to just stroll out of here with them and leave me to deal with Ambrose Rector by myself. Besides, the Feds have your flying machine.”

  “They what?” Cassandra’s nostrils flared. Until she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that part. I’ll have time for seething inner turmoil later. What’s this about Rector? The children were right? He’s actually here?”

  Molly opened her mouth, but Edison cut her off.

  “First answer my question,” he said. “For the sake of all of our safety, I need to know how you got here—to this office. How did you know to find us here? The existence of this Club isn’t public knowledge.”

  “Did the dog call you?” Robot guessed.

  “No,” said Cassandra. “Although that would have been fun. Wait, you brought the dog?”

  Clumps of soil flew across the office as Dr. Stinkums began digging up a potted plant. Edison cleared his throat.

  “Oh, yes,” said Cassandra. “When we discovered you children had run off to Washington—”

  “How’d you find out?” Emmett asked.

  “Luddie and Orla,” said the captain.